


When I was a Kid

by Mas_Cabron



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chaptered, Eating Disorder, More tags later, OC, OFC - Freeform, Sherlock Being Sherlock, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mas_Cabron/pseuds/Mas_Cabron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Mrs Hudson dies, "Impractical John, but really, we must move on." Their prayers, "John I don't pray." are soon answered when Mrs. Hudson's younger daughter drops her bags in their hall and whips out documents showing herself as the next key holder of their flat. She's pretty hesitant to take on the role of her mother, especially since Sherlock is a "-demanding tosser" But she has some dark secrets of her own, and finding out the intelligence of Sherlock doesn't help her unease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have like 4 other unfinished works, but this popped into my head on vacation after I finished watching the season. I suffer with an eating disorder and I have to wonder, how long would it take Sherlock to notice someone not eating? *More to the story than a teenage girls insufferable angst.*

     Her heels made an echoing click in the corridor as she set her bags pointedly in the corner. In some ways, she was glad it was winter. The weather cold enough to keep most off the streets, and those who braved it, rushed about their busyness in crowds no larger than two. With the rapid snow fall, it was almost too easy to get where you wanted to: the promise of your foot steps being covered in minutes. That's just what Margo Hudson needed on this dark and dismal January afternoon. However she only had a moments pause inside the chilly hall before someone came thundering down the banister. He was making his way to the door before he noticed her presence and stuttered to a stop.

"Yes, ahh, can I help you?" He had salt and pepper hair, blue grey eyes, and a coat thick enough to run the streets without worry of hypothermia. 

Margo shook the lapels of her jacket, the snow turned to water droplets making their way to the next nearest surface. "I'm looking for Martha Hudson's place." 

His grey eyes turned darker, face briefly pinching up before going slack. "Mrs. Hudson? The ugh, the Landlady?" 

She gave a faint smile and nodded, pulling out a bunched up collection of papers and a silver key on a string of twine. "I have all the paper work, everything should be in order. I just needed to be directed to her residency." 

"You are aware Mrs. Hudson passed away?" His face was pinched again, but his voice was polite, calm almost. 

"Am I safe in assuming you're John Watson?" 

"Guilty." 

She handed him the papers, waiting as he scanned over the material taking in the signatures and literal stamp of approval. 

"So you're," he dragged out the last word, uncertain and unwilling to jump to conclusions. 

"Margo Hudson. Youngest daughter, University drop out, _and_ your new Landlady." 

 

Day 1: 

Having someone banging on your front door was not the way Margo envisioned her awakening. On a Saturday no less. After a couple of minutes, when the noise only increased in volume, she was forced to throw her mountain of blankets off and crawl out from her fortress, throwing on the closest piece of clothing, her ex's ratty jumper, and float down the hall. 

"God in heaven, what?" She yanked the door open, a gush of London air practically toppling her over. 

"American. Interesting. Bags under the eyes the size of the Jack Wills industry, so obviously more than Jet Lag," there was a drawl in the mans tone, almost like he was bored of stating insults. 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

"and no respect for possible authority, I told you John, piece of cake." His almost galaxy like eyes swept over her once before tromping into her room, revealing a reluctant and very apologetic looking John Watson behind him. 

"What the _actual_ fuck." Margo could only blink, as first one than two men walked into her place. "Should I call the police or something?"

"Oh darling," the other mans voice called from somewhere deep inside her house, "please, you opened the door, therefore no sign of forced entry, stepped aside when I, as John will later point out to me, 'barged into your private abode' and as of yet, no motion of domestic violence has yet been made. But please, by all means call the police!"  

She followed him, looking back at John with disdain. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry, this is, _this_ is Sherlock."  

Suddenly the curly mop of hair popped in front of her path, causing her to briefly stumble back at the proximity of his body. " _Jesus_."

He ignored her, eyes scanning her in all entirety. "So we woke you did we?"

"No shit you,-"

"Interesting, seeing as it's bright and early. Five. PM." He separated the ending words, as if performing for an invisible audience. "Either way Just wanted to meet the new landlady. You're much more livelier than the late Mrs. Hudson."

"That was either _the_ most horribly timed pun, or you have _zero_ social skills." She hadn't moved from her spot against the wall, the safest distance from this lunatic she could get.

Sherlock ignored her and went to peak out of the window, leaving John to shrug his shoulders and mutter a disgruntled "Both. Look, ah, he just wants to make sure you'll do the same as your mother did." 

Margo stared at Sherlock, who in turn, stared at her, neither moving nor blinking. A battle no one wanted to lose, a test no one was willing to fail. Finally she, _Margo_ , opened her mouth and slowly pulled in air, almost as if making her own show, before lowering her eyes and talking. "Look what good that did her. Never thought I'd have to see Sherlock Holmes kill three members of my family." 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm working on ANOTHER story. I know guys, please don't hurt me. BUT ALL my other works are still in progress. I promise, on my life I will fnish them all. Meanwhile, a little Sherlock lovin. Enjoy my darlings. <3

Margo does not rise with the sun on the second day either. No one is banging on her door, demanding answers, digging into questions. Instead, thunder shakes her awake, grumbling and muttering just like before. There are no places for her to go, or jobs she should be jumping at. The death of her mother left a hefty fund with her name written on it and she could be sitting in this bed for the rest of her life. But there's that monster inside her, demanding attention in the worst of times. 

She threw the blankets off, letting the damp air wash over her but still in the comfort of her nest. She had a lot of unpacking to do, a lot of avoiding and most importantly, scheduling. She looked over at the clock, fourteen twelve. She could get out of bed, shower, dress, all in all thirty minutes, then she could get to the boxes. 

For Margo, everything had to be planned, she calculated time, days, on the occasion planning as far as weeks. It helped with the eating. If she had a plan, she could keep busy, and no food was involved. Wake up, shower, plug in net, television, boxes, rice maybe if she could find any. She wouldn't look too hard. But nothing would happen if she didn't get out of bed. 

 

Day 2

The thing about people who plan, is that they're either neat or messy. Sometimes there's time to clean, lots of time, almost _too much time_ , and then sometimes, there is no time.  

Two hours later, hair out of her face and tiled shower figured out, Margo was sitting in the middle of a mess. Everything had to be out, before it was put back in. Pots and pans, books, notepads, lots and lots of notepads. When she was younger her mother said she would be a future hoarder, Margo was sentimental, a scrap of paper with meaningless writing on it held more value to her than half her books. There was a piggy bank among her belongings, a small blue and white polka dot pig that her father gave to her when she was three. She never used it, half the time it stood dusty, but it was from her father therefore it meant something. 

Her hands fumbled through tissue paper, uncovering the very object she was just thinking about. The pig was just as shiny as the day she got it, the chip on his ear exactly the same from when her sister knocked it over. She set him to the side with the books, hoping to find a place for him on the bookshelves. 

So this was how her day went, unpacking and unwrapping until ten o'clock when her phone goes off. 

 

Day 3

And she start's again. This time managing to follow her alarm and get up at nine. She was undisturbed until two, when once again her phone went off, a ringtone this time. Margo almost trips over a box full of beach wear to reach it in time, it's location being all the way across the flat. 020 area code, someone from London then. She hesitated only a second before picking up. 

"Hello?" 

"Margo, what impeccable timing!" Sherlock Holmes too cheerful voice nearly shouted into her ear. 

"How did you get my phone number?"

"Never mind such small details, what I need from you now, is to make hot cuppa. For three preferably, we'll be at the flat in twenty, so please be ready." 

"What are you even going on about?" 

"Please keep up, for gods sake."

"Listen hear, you giant-

"I don't have time for this,"

"wad of total assholeness," 

There was a dial tone and Margo had to resist from tossing her phone in frustration. Whatever her wanted from her, _she wasn't selling._


End file.
